ppen--again she experienced the sensation. It had come first in
this very shack, when her childhood had departed, and the woman in her
had been born. A poor, dull woman, to be sure; still, a woman.

She had felt it, too, the Sunday of her marriage, when Drew had called
to her conscience and spirituality, and set the chords of suffering and
hope vibrating. From that hour to this she had been climbing painfully
to what was about to occur.

Well, she was ready. The bewitching smile played over her face.
Tiptoeing across the bedroom floor, she noiselessly unfastened the door,
and silently reached Gaston's side.

He had quite forgotten her. Weary from the day's work, perplexed by
later developments, with closed eyes, and hands clasped behind his head,
he was lost in thought.

Joyce touched him lightly, and he looked up.

She had taken him off guard. Her bewildering beauty attacked his senses
while his shield of Purpose was down.

"Good God!" he exclaimed staring at her. "You--you glorious creature!"

She laughed, and the sound thrilled the man as her beauty did. It was
new, and wonderful. He staggered to his feet and reached out to her like
a man blinded by a sudden glare.

She evaded his touch, and gave that wild little laugh again.

"You like it?" she asked, from across the table.

"Like it? You--are--divine!"

"Why--did--you--do it?"

"I had a mad fancy to see just how great your--beauty was."

"And--you see?"

"Heavens! I do see."

"And you think?"

"What any man would think," Gaston's excitement was rising, "who had
been starved for--years--and then finds all he's hungered for--alone in
the North Woods. Think?"

The breaking of a flaming log startled them, and it steadied Gaston for
a moment. Joyce had herself well in hand. The victory was hers if only
she could command this new power long enough.

"Please," she pleaded, "please sit down. I have something to say to
you."

CHAPTER XII

Gaston sank back in his chair, and Joyce sat down opposite. The table
was between them, and the light of the fire and lamp flooded over the
girl.

She was wonderful in that gown, and with her splendid, pale hair framing
her face with its fair glory.

The shock of surprise was passing, but Gaston still looked at the girl
as if he had never seen her before.

"What is it, Joyce?" he asked presently; "what has changed you so?" Then
he smiled, for the question seemed crude and ill-advised.

"The dress--i